Dark Shadows Overhead
by EWriting
Summary: Foggy Nelson has ambitions, and they certainly don't include giving up a lucrative position at one of NYC's most prestigious law firms to hare off to Hell's Kitchen and work for peanuts. When he's assigned to handle one of his firm's most lucrative clients, he sees a way to accelerate his rise, ethics be damned.


Foggy Nelson wasn't a nice guy.

Once, maybe, but not now.

Growing up, all he'd ever wanted was to be somebody. To walk into a room and know that everyone in there knew who he was. Knew what he could do.

But when he was a kid, he'd never imagined it happening. He'd always been outside, looking in, the last kid picked for all the sports, the one kid who never got an invitation to the neighbor's birthday party that all the other kids had been invited to. His mother'd reassured him, telling him he was just big boned, that he'd grow into his frame and that he was destined for greatness off the field and that soon he'd make lots and lots of friends and live happily ever after.

But it didn't lesson the sting of the sighs and sideways glances he'd endured, standing in his older brother's shadow. W _hy can't you be more like your brother, Rick? Now there's an athlete,_ his gym teachers would say wistfully, thinking with longing of the Nelson brother who actually knew how to carry a ball and who as a result of his skills had carried the Trojans to the state finals in his sophomore year. When Rick had blown out his knee in the fall of his senior year, and put paid to any hopes he'd had of a scholarship, Foggy'd been quietly, fiercely delighted. He'd literally had to stuff his fists in his mouth to stifle the louds whoops of laughter that had threatened to erupt as he'd listened from upstairs, when Rick's coach had broken the news that Rick'd been cut from the team as a result of his injuries. The memory of his brother's broken weeping had brought a wide smile to his face for months afterwards.

And if it wasn't bad enough that he'd been born with two left feet, he'd never had many friends, either. His three sisters seemed to make friends like some people breathe. They were always surrounded, their friends streaming in and out in an endless parade of blue eye shadow, high pitched squeals and uncontrolled giggles. They'd gather in great clumps and watch endless movie marathons, debating the relative hotness of Freddie Prinze Jr. versus Justin Timberlake and what they'd do if like, ohmygod, they actually, like, mettheir idols.

His mother'd suggested joining activities at school. _People can't get to know you if they don't have a chance to meet you first,_ she'd counseled. She was always so wildly, undauntedly optimistic, that sometimes Foggy just wanted to scream _It's not like that, Mom! It's never going to be like that!_ But even though he knew the outcome even before he'd started, he'd tried. In Junior High he'd joined the Hall Monitors, hoping that the supervisory role might earn him some points, or at least the grudging respect, of the bozos and yahoos he endured in the overcrowded halls and shabby, uninspired classrooms.

It hadn't.

 _Hey, Faggy!_ they'd taunted, circling and laughing, as they'd shoved him back and forth, snatching at his monitor vest, as he lurched back and forth, buffeted by their hard, relentless hands. He hadn't said anything then. He hadn't reported it to the teachers or his parents or anyone else. But for the next couple of weeks there'd been a rash of bike thefts that saw all of the stolen rides mysteriously and systematically crushed by the local commuter train that ran along just behind the school's athletic field.

It wasn't until high school, when he'd discovered debating, that he'd finally discovered a place where being smart and always having an answer were skills to be cherished, not scorned. His fellow debaters weren't his friends, not really, but he'd respected their drive and their academic ruthlessness, as they'd respected his. It gave him a place to belong, people who didn't mock his ambitions to leave the small, stifling former factory town that Nelsons had called home for generations, and helped lay the groundwork for what was now his career.

His drive had also earned him a spot in two of the best schools in the country. Whereas his dad had only ever completed high school and his mom had only one semester of secretarial school under her belt – withdrawing when the oops that was his oldest sister, Susan, had made herself known - and his sister Cathy, who'd gone to community college for nursing and now worked doling out pills to a bunch of comatose senior citizens warehoused in some shitty old age home, he'd taken an honors degree in History at Notre Dame, before enrolling at Columbia Law four years ago.

His parents were proud, of course, but they'd still been bewildered at his choices. His mom'd once told him she'd thought he'd make a good butcher. Foggy wondered what she'd think if he ever told her that in some ways, he'd made her dream come true. Although his ability to flay something to the bone, and lay its innards open was restricted to the witnesses he encountered on the stand at Landman and Zack, the irony amused him, even if he doubted if his mother would see it quite the same way.

By the time he'd arrived in New York City for law school, he'd also learned how to exploit his own weaknesses and use them to his own benefit. He knew he'd never win GQ's Man of the Year Title. His round face and awkward, oversized frame would never inspire either passion or intimidation. But there were other ways to gain the upper hand, so he'd honed his affable, funny, everyman routine until it was second nature. _Trust me,_ his actions would say, _I'm on your side._ And most people bought it, accepting him at face value and never seeing behind the mask he'd so carefully constructed. At least until it was too late for them to do anything about it.

And having Matt as a roommate had seemed like a boon at first. Sure he was boring as shit and always moaning about some wrong-doing or other that he'd committed like some sort of sadomasochistic Catholic whack job, but he was pathetically eager to please and grateful for the tiniest sliver of affection. All it'd taken to get Matt on side with the Foggy fan club had been a few friendly arms round the shoulder, a couple trips to the local bar for some carefully calculated shenanigans – there was a tiresome running joke about avocados that drove him nuts but Matt had lapped it up - and the liberal use of the term 'buddy' to seal the deal. For Christ sake, the guy was blind, wandering around with his dark glasses and his weird-ass cane. He'd probably been accepted as part of some dipshit diversity drive or equal opportunity crap. He wasn't a real threat. But still, he was good looking and if there was anything Foggy knew about women, it was that they loved to "nurture" the wounded and make themselves feel good about themselves. Setting himself up as Matt's wingman, able to pick off the low-lying fruit, meant that a steady and uninterrupted flow of women he could fuck and then discard without the bother of wooing them himself, he'd reasoned.

But he'd made two mistakes.

First, it turned out that despite being blind, Matt Murdock was the real deal when it came to the law. He knew his stuff backwards and forwards and could ninja his way through legal minefields like nobody's business. Far from hanging off Foggy's coattails, Matt's abilities had actually helped him academically and propelled them both to the top of their class.

But the biggest mistake by far was inviting Matt Murdock home with him for Thanksgiving their first year.

He'd known, of course, that Matt was an orphan. Google was his friend. But he hadn't really realized what that meant in practical terms until that Wednesday in November when he'd been bustling around their tiny room, throwing his crap in his duffle bag and getting ready to head out to the bus depot.

"You wanna share a cab downtown?" he'd asked, shoving in a final sweater and wrestling with the bag's zipper.

Matt'd looked up from his desk, his fingers pausing over the braille reader, and shook his head. "No, I'm good. I'm going to the library later though. I'm going to see if I can get a head start on our assignment for Feldman."

"You're staying here?" In his surprise, he'd spoken without thinking.

Matt had smiled gently. "Thanksgiving's a family holiday, Fog. No family, no holiday." He spoke matter of factly, without any seeming bitterness. "But if I get bored, I can always see if it's possible to cook a whole turkey in a twelve inch toaster oven."

Listening to his roommate, Foggy'd made a split second decision. He'd abandoned his own bag and started rummaging through Matt's drawers instead, tossing the contents on the nearby bed as he located what he needed.

"What are you doing?" Matt had crossed the room, laying his hands on the growing pile of his belongings with a look of consternation on his face.

"Buddy, there's no I'm leaving you here to spend Thanksgiving by yourself. What kind of a friend would I be if I did that?"

"I-I don't want to impose…" Matt had stammered. Christ, the guy looked like a freaking male model, he was damn near top of his class at one of the best law schools in the country and he still had dick all for self-esteem. Foggy rolled his eyes, knowing Matt couldn't see his scorn, as long as his voice sounded sincere. In his weekly phone calls home, his mom was always asking about his friends. Ceaseless questions, like the dripping of a tap. But in one fell swoop, he'd solve that problem and cement his 'best friend' status with Murdock at the same time. It was genius.

"Are you kidding? Every year, my mom makes way too much food and we all eat ourselves into food comas, gorging ourselves silly while my dad and my brothers-in-law argue about whether the Jets have what it takes to get to the Superbowl this year. You'd be doing me a favour. Really."

And Matt, being Matt, had taken him at his word, happy to take his elbow and be guided from their dorms, and then to the depot for the hours-long bus ride. And just like Foggy'd forseen, his mother'd been only too happy to welcome Matt with open arms.

"Matthew Murdock!" she'd crowed at his first arrival, as though they were long lost family or something. She'd wrapped him up in a tight hug, not even giving him time to get his coat off. "Foggy, why didn't you tell me your roommate was so handsome?"

"Because I'm not gay?"

She waved her son's sarcastic riposte away with a dismissive sweep of her hand. "I'm so glad you came," she said before placing her hands on Matt's face. She turned his face first one way and then the other. "Are you getting enough to eat? You look thin. Don't you think, Ed? That Matt looks thin?"

Foggy's dad had roused himself from the overburdened recliner where he'd been installed, chuckling as he crossed the room to shake hands with their guest. "Kid looks fine to me, Rita. And if he's rooming with Foggy, I'm sure he's not missing any meals."

Matt had handled the attention with an embarrassed and carefully assumed nonchalance. But Foggy could tell he loved the attention and soon, Matt was ensconced on the sofa, a watery domestic beer in hand, hemmed in on either side by his sisters, who were grilling him on his love life and bickering over which of their friends would be the best match for him while Rita had shouted questions from the kitchen from time to time and the kids ran roughshod over him, clambering in and out of his lap like he was some sort of goddamn human jungle gym.

Yes, the Nelson clan had welcomed Matt with open arms. Soon, it was an accepted fact amongst all his family that Matt would spend his holidays with them. Christmas, Easter, Fourth of July. Hell, Susan and Pete had invited him to attend their most recent kid's christening when she'd been born in halfway through their second year of law school. And Matt had actually gone, giving up the opportunity of spending the weekend with a hot-ass pre-law student in favour of ten hours roundtrip on an intercity bus. If it had been possible, his mother probably would have jumped on the chance to start the paperwork for the adult adoption process.

But all the enforced closeness grated on Foggy's nerves. Sometimes, he'd fantasize about what Matt would do if he told him how he really felt about him. He'd counted down the months and weeks until graduation, looking forward to the day when he could leave Matt behind and get on with his plans, unburdened by the lily-livered do-gooder that the Housing Office had saddled him with three years earlier.

A big part of his plans had been landing himself a position at a top-notch firm where, in exchange for the majority of his waking hours and a complete and total lack of personal time, he'd be remunerated with an appropriately generous salary and a chance to advance, first to associate and ultimately, if he played his cards right, to partner.

The internship position at Landman and Zach certainly fit the bill. One of the biggest firms in Manhattan, the firm had a reputation for aggressive litigation strategies – an approach that Foggy approved of wholeheartedly. They only hired a half dozen new graduates every year and competition was ferocious. And he'd felt pretty damn good about his chances.

Until he learned that Matt had also applied.

And also been accepted.

Christ, was he ever going to get rid of the deadweight? It certainly didn't look like it would be happening any time soon.

 **Thanks for reading. I've been enjoying the new Daredevil inspired fan-fics and I was inspired to try my own version. But I couldn't help but wonder what would happen if instead of being his usual friendly and loyal self, Foggy's insecurities and drive to succeed were channeled in less altruistic directions…**


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